


Different

by Fudgyokra



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Exploration, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Humor, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Male Homosexuality, Post-Canon, Romance, Sherlock is gay gay gay, Silly, on John's part, or rather an attempt at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 09:26:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10533615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: "Have you ever kissed anyone before?" Post-S4 Johnlock drabble.





	

 

 

 

"Sherlock?" John asked, voice tentative. The question on his brain was a nudge in what some might say was the right direction, although with Sherlock, one could never tell what "the right direction" entitled. Still, John's curiosity demanded that he persist.

"Yes, John?" Sherlock replied as he always did, with the same inflection and everything else, as if nothing had ever changed even though there had been so much _life_ between them in the past year. That life included little Rosie in the living room, babbling animatedly at something on the television.

John set his jaw to the side in consideration of what he was about to ask. He looked across the island counter at the other man, who was busy marking things (or scribbling just to look busy, possibly) on a legal pad and sucking down black coffee, not facing John. "I have a question," he said, still gauging his mood. Sherlock could be a tempest or a drizzle, and sometimes it took a delicate hand to part the waters.

"I gathered that much, John." There was no irritation in his tone so John pressed on, stirring the already-stirred coffee that sat before him.

"Have you ever kissed anyone before?"

"Janine."

"And meant it," John finished, watching Sherlock turn around to regard him curiously. He flicked his eyebrows up at him pointedly and took a sip from his mug, but John didn't offer anything else.

To his surprise, Sherlock's dubious express eventually faded into a thoughtful one. Even more surprising was the nod that followed. "Yes."

"Really?" John asked unnecessarily. He had to process the thought that Sherlock would ever willingly kiss someone. "In a _romantic_ way?"

"I'm not exactly of the platonic kissing sort."

"Or the romantic sort!" John replied, his mind still reeling.

"Well, you asked. I answered." Sherlock wheeled around, mug in hand, and headed into the living room. John, without even thinking about it, followed.

"Who?"

"Who, what?" Sherlock asked.

John rolled his eyes. "Who have you kissed?"

"Victor."

"Victor Trevor?"

Sherlock nodded to the affirmative. Slowly, John nodded as well as he took it in. "But you were children, so that hardly counts. Any… _adult_ affairs?"

"One," Sherlock said, averting his gaze from John suddenly. "But he is best off to remain nameless."

"It isn't Moriarty, is it?"

Sherlock gave him a withering look. "Of course not. It was a friend of mine who may, potentially, have a…" he cleared his throat and mumbled, "bit of a drug habit," around the lip of his mug.

"Is it that slag that you invite to our flat when you're…" John didn't have the guts to say "regressing" but couldn't seem to think of another word and so let the question hang unspoken.

"Right," Sherlock replied with a nod. There was a brief pause. "Why do you ask?" He looked at John with genuine inquisitiveness and dark brows knitted together over imploring eyes.

John sat down in his chair and watched Sherlock sink into the one across from him and cross his legs. "Well," he began delicately, not sure what possessed him to tell the stupid, dumb, ridiculous truth, "I was curious if it's any different."

"Different than what?" Sherlock replied, his lips tilting upward at the corners in a way that told him that he knew exactly what John was going to say.

"Kissing women."

"As opposed to?" Sherlock sipped his coffee.

"Don't be an idiot."

"I never am."

"I wouldn't say that," John said with a sigh. "I mean, is kissing men any different than kissing women?"

Quick on the draw, Sherlock flapped a hand dismissively at him and said, curtly, "Of course not."

"I don't know," John said thoughtfully, "I feel like it would be different, somehow."

"It's not," Sherlock returned pleasantly. He took another sip of coffee. He did not look John in the eye. "I can prove it to you."

John wasn't sure if Sherlock had fallen into his trap this easily on purpose or out of sheer assholery. Either way, he was content to let him wallow in his ego this one time. "Really?" he asked, feigning surprise. "How?"

Sherlock scoffed and leaned forward to set his mug on the table some distance to the side of them, in front of which sat Rosie, giggling in her rocker. "Obviously, John," he started, the words so commonly-spoken in their little flat that John couldn't help but snort at the mundane nature of it all, "I mean I could kiss you and show you that it's no different at all than any other kiss you've ever had." Then, after smiling privately at something he must have thought, he tacked on, "Not to offend your delicate heterosexual sensibilities."

John set his mug beside Sherlock's and leaned forward in his chair, looking at the other with expectancy clear in his features. "You couldn't possibly," he said drolly in response.

Swiftly and without ceremony, Sherlock cocked his head and pressed a soft, fluttery kiss to John's lips. Immediately after, he pulled away and straightened. "See? Not any different at all."

"I don't know," John said, drawing his words out thoughtfully. "I couldn't tell since that lasted exactly one second."

"Two," Sherlock corrected primly. There was a beat of silence, during which he must have realized that John was being serious, if his expression were any indication. It went from perfectly normal to something more open, which John was afraid to say he found _was_ becoming normal. "Oh, you meant…"

"Try again," John confirmed with a nod.

Sherlock swallowed. "All right. In the name of research." John scoffed and was purposefully ignored so that Sherlock could concentrate on leaning forward in his chair again, touching his knees to John's. He set a palm on John's left thigh and splayed his fingers, clutching with a suspicious level of possessiveness as their faces neared. His gaze flickered from John's eyes to his mouth, then fluttered closed.

When their lips actually did meet, John's hand twitched subconsciously, like some unseen force sent an electric jolt through him. He pressed himself forward as much as he could without dumping himself out of the chair, and Sherlock met his enthusiasm by standing, tilting John's head up as he went. His hands came up on either side of John's face and claimed it, his fingers curling just the slightest bit at the nape of his neck.

The moment they broke apart felt strangely similar to awakening from a particularly lucid dream. For a second, John had to reassess his person to make sure he _hadn't_ been dreaming. He blinked to clear his foggy thoughts.

Finally, he found the balls to look Sherlock in the eye again, and when he had, the man was sitting across from him once more, sipping daintily from his mug with his eyes closed. John's lip twitched. "All right," he said, mostly to himself. "Okay."

Sherlock hummed.

"Actually, that _was_ different," John said, watching with satisfaction as Sherlock raised a brow at him.

"Oh, please," he said after a short introspection, lowering his cup to his lap.

"Not because you're a man," John clarified, unable to contain a cheeky smile. "Because you're you, Sherlock."

Again, the detective hummed, considering this. Finally, he asked, "Is that an insult?"

John offered a rather long-suffering sigh. "No, you idiot."

"Ah. Well, in that case…" Sherlock smiled. "I appreciate the sentiment."


End file.
